There is an axiom in the photography business: on location, nothing is ever as it should be. As I entered one of the maximum-security pods that house death-row prisoners in Tennessee, Walter Caruthers was mopping the floors. We paid little attention as Caruthers complained that we were scuffing his highly polished floor.

My studio had been in lengthy communication with another man on this death row, and we had come to see him. But at the last moment, he refused to sign the state's release form. After a couple of minutes of negotiation, Caruthers agreed. We couldn't believe that finding a replacement would be so easy.

Riverbend is the latest system: maximum-security, single-level housing of small groups of prisoners, with the electric chair in the middle.

Some of the inmates we met were conflicted about their futures. Most either professed their innocence and were trying to rectify the injustice, or were in various ways preparing themselves for the inevitable. Walter seemed unruffled; he had a particular equilibrium and didn't worry about tomorrow.

His philosophy was unique.

"It's how you adjust your mind. You can adjust your mind to anything... You can adjust your mind to being rich. You can adjust your mind to being poor. In this situation, it's all you do. Right now, we've got some people that just can't stand the pressure."

Walter was under the impression that he would someday get off death row, even leave prison. He claimed he would not make any kind of deal in exchange for a mandatory life term. With his new lawyer, with time served and time off for good behavior, he would be out in a few years. I don't know if this is an illusion, but I'm skeptical. He also dispelled the myth that life on death row is intolerable. He claimed it wasn't that bad; even the food was okay.

"I'm content. Now that may sound crazy but I can deal with these day-to-day... I know exactly whatís going to take place. I know what I got to do."

I had heard about people who preferred the regimented life of a soldier, mental patient, or prisoner. The fact that their decisions were made for them represented a certain kind of security. But it was obvious to me that Walter had paid a price for his tranquility. He looked tired. His baseball cap looked tired; the way he wore it backward, it seemed his alter ego. He

didn't appear depressed, but now and then he drifted off the end of his sentences.

Everybody develops ways to cope with bad situations. My theory is that Walter gave up some part of himself to make prison tolerable. He nonehteless seems to be looking toward his future.